apropos
I read this great little poem in The New Yorker yesterday and laughed and laughed, it was too appropriate…
Farm Team
by Kevin Young
I’m sick of this century
already.
My pleasant things all
ashes are.
No horizon—you can tell
the sky & ground
apart only
by guessing.
Rookie mistake.
Misery
is the only company
that would hire me
& I learnt yesterday
I’m getting laid off.
I wish wrong
& too often.
My pension
long gone, my job farmed
out to someone
better at failing—
I’ve been trained
in nothing.
I have taken myself
apart in the dark—
put back
together like a soldier
in the rain—one gear
always left over.
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